To be is to be perceived
by pluto7
Summary: On the run and severely hurt with nowhere to stay, Harry's summer takes a turn for the worse. Then Snape, of all people, find Harry and is forced to take him in, making his summer ten times worse. In addition to spending the summer with the dungeon bat, Harry discovers strange things within his magic... Can the two stubborn wizards put their differences aside and help each other?
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: Hi. I used to post a lot of fanfics about a year or two ago (none of which are actually finished, which I am very sorry about please don't hate me), but haven't posted anything lately because I kind of hated everything I wrote and lost motivation.  
BUT my love for writing and J.K. Rowling's characters is as strong as ever, and I want to give this writing thing another try. So here's another (mediocre) attempt at a Snape mentors Harry fic.  
I hope you enjoy. Please review, fav and all that jazz if you like it if you like  
PS: English is not my native language so there will be errors in my grammar, and I hope you will forgive me. Feel free to correct me, I'd love to get better in English.

Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine, they belong to J. .

Summary: On the run and severely hurt with nowhere to stay, Harry's summer looks to be going downhill. Then Snape, of all people, find Harry and is forced to take him in, making his summer ten times worse. In addition to spending the summer with the dungeon bat, Harry discovers strange things within his magic... Can the two stubborn wizards put their differences aside and help each other?

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Harry had seen Vernon angry before. He'd seen how Vernon's veins popped, how his whole face turned purple, and the way his eyes went all wide and livid. Harry had seen Vernon shout and stomp around, the ground shaking underneath his walrus-feet, stabbing his finger in Harry's face and occasionally slap Harry about. Vernon was a simple-minded man who conformed to shouting and violence when he was angry.  
This time, however, was different. This time, Vernon's face was dark and grim, his fists balling, his jaw clenched, his whole body shaking in rage. This time his eyes were narrow as he scowled at the scrawny boy in front of him, his left eye occasionally twitching. This time Vernon wasn't just angry, he was on the brink of losing his mind.  
Harry wanted to defend himself. He wanted to say how he never meant to perform magic at all, but the words were stuck in his throat. His magic had never acted in such a way before, and to be honest the whole situation freaked him out almost as much as it freaked out the Durlseys.  
"I've had enough of you. You and that freakishness of yours. You are a threat to this household! To my family!" Vernon tilted his head to one side, contemplating Harry similar to how a predator contemplated its prey. Shudders and whimpers came from the corner of the room, where Dudley sat wrapped in a blanket being strangled by Petunia, who was hurriedly whispering words of comfort into the ear of her son, stroking his hair with quick movements.  
Again, Harry tried to explain himself, saying how he never meant to frighten anyone. As he said this, he tried to approach Dudley and Petunia, hoping to calm them. To make them understand. Harry quickly backed away, however, when Petunia started shrieking.  
"Get him away! Don't let him near our boy!" Vernon quickly stomped towards Harry, more determined than Harry had ever seen him.  
"Don't you dare go near my family, you filthy, worthless freak!" As Vernon was towering over him, Harry tried to explain himself one last time. Surely they couldn't actually believe that he was dangerous?  
"Please, uncle Vernon. I never meant to-"  
SLAP. Stumbling backwards completely dumbstruck, Harry backed away from his uncle. But he was backed against the wall, with no means of escape as Vernon grabbed the collar of his shirt and lifted him up against the wall.  
"This has gone on for far too long! I should've done this a long time ago!"  
Harry coughed as he struggled to breathe, trying in vain to get out of his uncle's deathly grip.  
"The snake, the letters, the owls, the giant, the pigtail, the flying car, the cake, and now this! We've had enough of you!" For each incident Vernon listed, he pushed Harry, hitting the back of his head repeatedly against the wall. As if the dizziness and pain wasn't enough, lack of oxygen made the edges of his vision blurry, and his eyes widened in fear as he desperately flailed his arms around. It felt as if an eternity had passed when Vernon, with a frustrated growl, let go of Harry, who ended up falling to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. Harry rolled over onto his stomach and tried to crawl away, only to be kicked back down again by a big foot stomping on his back, knocking the wind out of him. Something cracked, and Harry couldn't help but scream in pain. His whole vision blurred as Vernon continued his stomping. At that moment, all Harry knew was pain, but soon the pain overwhelmed him and everything turned black.

A highly unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach woke Harry up. He couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly it was, but was soon distracted by all the other limbs attached to his body that was screaming in pain. Groaning, he opened his eyes, but whether he had open or closed eyes had little to say anyway as he was enveloped in darkness. Harry lifted his arms and felt around him blindly, looking for something to hold onto. The mere movement of lifting his arms caused a searing pain to strike up his side and in his wrist. Hissing, he slowly rolled over onto his stomach and clumsily managed to stand up, panting.  
Harry tried to breathe evenly, but each breath only came out as raspy and panicky. Lightheaded and with weak legs, his knees buckled and he soon he found himself on the floor again, this time remaining there for a good ten minutes. He was trying to ignore the pain by focusing on getting his breath under control, along with the panic. Only a few seconds later, he quickly turned to his side and vomited, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Nauseous and coughing, Harry cringed and turned away from the smell, groaned and lied back down. Everything hurt. Flashes of his last memories before blacking out caused Harry to twitch involuntarily. He couldn't remember every detail, it had all happened so quickly, but he had a good idea of why he felt as if his body was breaking into a million pieces. Vernon had been violent before, but this…

Groaning, he pushed himself up, and leaned on the nearest wall for support. Now that he'd calmed down, he easily recognized where he was. He'd spent most of his childhood in this very same darkness, after all.  
He followed the wall of the cupboard for a few seconds, before finding the doorknob. To say that he was surprised to find the door locked would've been a lie, but he couldn't help but groan as he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now. He couldn't break through the door, not in his state, and he'd never really learned how to pick locks either. He promised himself that if he ever got out of there, he would learn to do so.  
As his mind reeled, looking for an answer, he felt as if he was missing something. Something painfully obvious that would easily get him out of this tricky situation. Squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to concentrate, something that proved hard for Harry's hazy and sluggish brain, Harry suddenly heard a small voice in the back of his mind.  
 _Wand._  
Reaching into his back pocket, remembering that this had been the last place he'd put it, he laughed in relief as his hand found the piece of wood. A laugh which soon turned into an ugly cough. Wincing, he drew out his wand, but hesitated for a moment. He knew he was not allowed to do magic outside of school, especially after that whole cake incident that he was blamed for (though he couldn't find it in him to be angry with Dobby). To be expelled from Hogwarts, his home, was out of the question. But if he didn't use his magic, what other choice did he have? To wait here and hope for someone to come find him? No. He'd spent more than enough of his childhood doing that in this very same cupboard. In fact, he'd learnt a long time ago that in the end he would always have to take care of himself.  
Sighing at his dilemma, he tiredly squeezed his eyes shut and bitterly wished that the Dursleys hadn't locked the door.  
The exact same moment as this thought formed in Harry's mind, he felt a rush of…something run through his body. A mixture of something warm and tingling, spreading and whirling inside him.  
The sound of a click, and Harry froze, immediately recognizing the sound of the lock opening. His mind reeled as he tried to understand what had just happened, but then quickly decided to store that for later as he could barely manage to stand upright at the moment.  
Opening the door opened and stumbling out, Harry prepared to make a run for it (or at least attempt to do so) should he see his uncle. He quickly looked around, and found himself dumbstruck.  
The Dursley residence was empty. Not just the 'lacking of people' kind of empty, but the 'lacking of people, furniture, pictures, drapes, carpets and all signs of someone ever residing here' kind of empty. Just how long had Harry been unconscious? What day was it? The Dursleys had completely abandoned the place. And me, Harry realised quickly, like a brick falling from the sky. He leaned against the wall for support, feeling dizzy again. It wasn't that he would miss them, not at all. But had they really hated him so much that they were willing to leave everything, their house, their town, their lives, and start everything afresh, just to get away from him? Had Harry been so horrible to put up with that he deserved to be locked in the cupboard and left behind to starve?  
 _"Stop being such a drama queen,"_ said a voice in Harry's head, disdainfully _. "They probably knew you'd find your way out."_ Harry nodded to himself, though a part of him was still unsure of whether the Durlseys cared either way.  
His face contorted to one of resignation. The Durlseys had never tried to hide their hatred towards him before, so he should really have seen this one coming. At least he wouldn't have to stay with the Dursleys anymore.  
With clenched teeth, Harry managed to drag one foot in front of the other and make his way upstairs to his room, finding motivation in that this would, hopefully, be the last time he walked through this hateful place. This thought brought a small smile to his lips as he opened the door to his room, or Dudley's old second bedroom that he had been generous enough to sacrifice. Looking around the room, he sighed in relief as he saw that the Durlseys had not touched his stuff. They'd probably left this room for Harry to pack out of, not wanting to be contaminated by his freakish germs. Sneering, he walked over to his trunk to start packing. That was when he noticed, though, that his cage, Hedwig's cage, was empty. His face fell, and Harry quickly (or as quickly as he could without hurting himself) walked to the window. The dark sky was cloud free and starry, but there was no Hedwig to be seen.  
 _"The Durlseys hated Hedwig,"_ Harry thought to himself. " _They would never take her with them. They most likely just let her out so that if she got hungry, she wouldn't start screeching and drawing attention from the neighbours."  
"Or,"_ said another voice in the back of his mind. " _They hurt her, or maybe even killed her, just to get to you."  
_ "No!" Harry said firmly, a hint of panic in his voice, not realising he was thinking aloud. "If they did that, they'd wouldn't have taken her with them. They'd left her for me to see. No, she's alive," Harry concluded finally, though a part of him was still doubtful and worried.  
His mind still on Hedwig, Harry started packing his stuff into his trunk, working on auto-pilot. Several times, Harry had to stop for a moment and breathe so that he would not collapse again.  
Luckily, though, he didn't have many belongings to pack, and soon found himself standing in the middle of an empty room (except for the bed, desk and closet, of course, since Harry had yet to learn the shrinking spell. Another thing he promised himself he would learn once he got out), his trunk at his side and ready to go. He groaned, however, as he realised that his sweater smelled slightly of vomit, and he could've changed if he had not packed the sweaters at the bottom of the trunk. Shaking his head, he hid his wand up his sleeve and put a few coins in his back pocket (1 galleon and 2 sickles to be exact, the only money he had on him at the moment as he had yet to go to the bank). Checking to see that he had everything, and finding that he did, Harry headed out of the bedroom, down the stairs and through the front door with some difficulty, as his trunk, though not completely full, was still heavy and difficult to carry, his body already exhausted. He exited the house and walked away from privet drive 4, not looking behind for a single second.

The air outside was completely still, no breeze could be felt. Like a stagnant pool, it had the smell of something festering and rotting. Or maybe that smell was just Harry.  
The light from the lampposts illuminated the streets, but otherwise there was almost complete darkness. The panic gripping his heart was increasing for each minute he walked aimlessly through the streets of Surrey.  
Feeling stupid for not even planning where to go before leaving the Dursleys, Harry sat down on a bench to rest his shaky legs. At the Dursleys, he'd had shelter at least. He could've stayed for a few more hours and recovered before leaving. But he hadn't been thinking. He'd only known that he wanted to get out of that hateful place as quickly as possible. And to be honest, he would probably do the same again. He couldn't stand staying there a minute longer. No, he needed to get to London. The train would leave the 1st of September, and Harry had to be on it. But how on earth was he supposed to get to London?  
Flying was out of the question, as he was sure, considering his state, that it would end with him falling to his death. He didn't have any muggle money to pay for transport, either. He could always hitchhike with someone, but then again there wasn't many people headed for London at this time of night, and Harry wasn't sure how much further he would be able to walk.  
With Hedwig gone, there was no way for him to contact Ron and Hermione either. Worry seeped into his mind once again, and he was so deep in thought that he almost didn't notice how the bushes on the other side of the street rustled and moved. Frowning, Harry slowly stood up with wand in hand, eyeing the bush curiously. It was only when the bush started growling dangerously and he saw a big pair of yellow eyes, that Harry reacted instinctively and whipped out his wand.  
BANG. Whatever creature had hidden in the bushes jumped at the sound, as did Harry, and disappeared, while Harry's attention was drawn to the most strange-looking bus that seemingly had appeared out of nowhere. It screeched as it abruptly stopped in front of Harry, the doors opening with another BANG. Out came a gangly man that couldn't be more than 6 years older than Harry, leaning on the bus doors, not even looking up as he pulled out a card from his back pocket, and started reading the card aloud;  
"Welcome to the Knight bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and I'll be your conductor for this evening." Sighing, Stan put the card back in his pocket and looked around for the first time, taking in the obvious muggle neighbourhood. He then looked at Harry with narrow eyes.  
"Whatchu doing?" Stan asked, taking in Harry's appearance. Harry, who's hazy mind was reeling, held his arms around his waist tightly.  
"I-I'm lost," lied Harry, eyes blinking rapidly. "How much for a ticket?" Stan looked him up and down, before moving aside and letting Harry in.  
"11 sickles for the ticket, but for 13 sickles you can get a hot chocolate, and for 15 sickles you get a hot water bottle and a toothbrush. Look, you can choose which colour." Harry, ignoring the variety of toothbrushes that Stan was holding, gave the man 11 sickles. Harry was too nauseous and sweaty for a water bottle and hot chocolate to be tempting. Stan looked slightly disappointed, but said nothing and gave Harry his ticket, who nodded his thanks and quickly sat down on the nearest seat, his weak legs shaking.  
"Where are you off to, then?" asked Stan, leaning against the window. Licking his dry lips, Harry swallowed.  
"London," said Harry quickly, his voice still croaky.  
"You hear that, Ern? London," he threw over his shoulder to the bus driver, before chuckling to himself. Harry, too tired to care to understand why that was funny, turned his lips upwards in what could perhaps resemble the ghost of a smile, before leaning his head back in his seat.  
"You sure you okay, mate?" asked Stan, seeming genuinely concerned. Harry nodded quickly, and Stan was about to continue when the bus said BANG and was on it's way again, travelling down the street with a speed Harry was quite sure was not safe nor legal. Houses, cars and people passed in a blur. The bus driver didn't even care to drive on the road, as he took all kinds of detours through gardens and the sidewalk. Gripping the seat tightly, he tried to ignore his nausea.  
Turning his attention to the inside of the bus instead, as looking outside only made him dizzy, he noticed that Stan was reading a newspaper. On the front was a picture of a ragged man with messy hair, chained hands, sallow skin, yellow teeth and intense eyes that seemed to follow Harry. Something was strangely familiar about him, though he could not place him.  
"Who is that man? On the front page?" he asked Stan before he could stop himself, barely able to tear his gaze off him. Stan turned to the front page and stared at Harry unbelievingly.  
"Who is… Who is- That is Sirius Black, that is! Don't tell me you never heard of Sirius Black?" Harry looked at the man, Sirius, and shook his head. Stan leaned forward as if to tell Harry a big secret.  
"He's a murderer. Got himself locked up in Azkaban for it. A big follower of…you-know-who." Stan paused and glanced around the bus nervously, as if Voldemort was to pop up out of nowhere. "Reckon you've heard of him." Harry nodded and looked at the picture of Sirius again.  
"I've seen _him_ , though," he realised slowly. "On the muggle television!"  
"Well of course he's on the muggle television, he's an escaped prisoner. Everybody should be on guard even muggles, no especially muggles. He killed 13 with one spell! Imagine that!" Stan shuddered and Harry couldn't help but to do the same.  
"But… how did he escape?"  
"Well that's it, isn't it? Nobody knows. He's the first one that's done it!" Feeling even more nauseas than before, Harry looked out of the window again, wondering where Sirius Black was now.

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That's it for chapter 1, I hope you enjoyed! All reviews are very very very appreciated.  
Chapter 2 is coming soon!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hi! I can't believe so many people have read my little fic, thank you so much!  
English is not my native language, btw, so I apologise for all grammatical errors.  
Anyway, here is chapter 2. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling.

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The next hour passed in a haze for Harry, who was drifting in and out of sleep. The Knight Bus, though perhaps not the safest choice of transportation, was his best option at the moment. Harry recalled how hopeless his situation had seemed only a few minutes ago, and he couldn't believe his luck when the bus so unceremoniously came to his rescue. He supposed that by having an incredible bad and good luck, the balance of the universe was restored… or something like that.  
Unaware of his thoughts drifting, Harry sunk further into his seat and fell asleep.

Rest was proving to be harder than expected, however, as strange dreams haunted him.  
Harry was flying. Not on a broom, just him in the sky, wind ruffling innocently through his clothes. The sky was calm and Harry was thoroughly enjoying himself. Then the wind got stronger. And stronger. He was losing control of his flying, and the sky that had been blue only a few moments ago was now dark and thundered dangerously. The wind was howling in his ears, changing his course whenever he tried to land on safe earth by dragging him up again. He'd lost his sense of direction, everything was so dark. But in all the darkness a white speck could be made out, and Harry recognized it as Hedwig.  
"Hedwig!" Harry shouted, his own voice muffled by the loud wind. The speck was getting smaller, and Harry was finding it hard to keep it in his eyesight as the wind kept throwing him off course, spinning him around and dragging him in different directions. The white speck of Hedwig was now completely gone, along with almost everything else as he found himself enveloped in almost complete darkness.  
"Hedwig!" He couldn't even hear himself anymore as he fell in the darkness, thunder and howling filling his ears. He couldn't breathe. He was dying.  
"Potter!" Jumping at the sudden voice that had somehow penetrated the sound of the chaos around them, Harry looked around to find the source of the voice, but still saw nothing but darkness. The voice had been muffled and weak, but it had been there. Harry desperately tried to shout back, but he still could not hear himself. Only that voice.  
"Harry Potter!" The voice grew stronger and stronger, and Harry whirled around, trying to find the person… His only hope in this godforsaken place. His whole body was shaking, as the voice continued calling on him  
"Potter!" It was only now he realised he recognized that voice. It was a very distinctive voice, as only one person could say his name like that. But what on earth was he doing he-  
"Potter, wake up!"  
Harry gasped as his eyes shot open, frantically looking around.  
A pair of jet black eyes were staring at him, and Harry desperately tried to escape the person's grip, a part of his mind still in the nightmare.  
"Goodness sake's, Potter, calm down!" Harry blinked harshly, trying to focus his eyes on the person in front of him. It was the nose that gave it away, really.  
"Professor Snape," greeted Harry dumbstruck, sitting up in his seat. Snape wrinkled his nose disdainfully and looked Harry up and down, making him painfully aware of his appearance and the fact that he smelled of sick, as he squirmed in his seat under his professor's scrutinizing.  
"What happened to you?" he asked, brows furrowing as he spoke with urgency, eyes darting to the other passengers at the bus, before returning to Harry. Why was Snape so… on edge?  
The edges of Harry's vision were still blurry, and Harry blinked hard in attempt to make it go away, along with the spinning.  
"I'm… fine, sir. Thank you," answered Harry slowly, his voice still croaky and a part of him still fazed by the nightmare. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry, and he ended up coughing instead.  
"Don't be an idiot, Potter. Shouldn't you be with those muggle relatives of yours?" he asked, the hint of hysteria in his voice going unnoticed by Harry, who's tired mind was having enough trouble trying to have a proper conversation with proper sentences.  
"Well… yes, but-" Harry didn't get much further before the bus came to a sudden holt, nearly knocking Harry off his seat. With quick reflexes after years of training, Snape easily catched him and pushed him back down in his seat, noticing how the boy held his side with and hissed painfully. He then quickly retracted his hand as if disgusted at having to touch Harry.  
The sudden stop had knocked the wind out of Harry, and he took deep, wheezing breaths as he leaned back in his seat. His grey face shone in sweat, and his green and fierce eyes now looked dull and glazed over.  
"Why are you on this bus, Potter? What have you done?" Despite the amount of pain he was suffering and the amount of energy he was using in order to simply stay conscious, Harry still found it in him to glare at his professor. Snape already assumed his situation was somehow his fault. All Snape ever saw when he looked at Harry, was the image he had created for him. The one where he was a spoiled, arrogant and ungrateful troublemaker. Only one of those statements was correct, and even that was not a title Harry was proud of. He never meant to get into trouble, it always found him.  
"What's it to you?" Harry retorted, knowing he was only feeding into the image, but not able to dampen his rising temper. Snape shifted where he stood, folding his arms across his chest.  
"Careful, Potter-" Snape was suddenly interrupted as Stan came up to them and addressed Snape, not even looking up as he found something underneath his fingernail extremely interesting.  
"We've arrived at your destination, sir," he said, not noticing the obvious tension in the air. Snape's lips thinned, as if he was holding back some nasty comment. Taking one glaring look at Harry, his nostrils flaring, Snape said;  
"You are coming with me." Harry's eyes shot up in surprise, and unable to protest or speak out of shock, he let himself be dragged out of the bus and onto the streets by Snape who gripped Harry's shoulder with one hand and carried his trunk in the other.

They said nothing as they walked down the dark streets, Snape because it was too dangerous to discuss anything out in the open, and Harry because he had too many thoughts at once to articulate a complete sentence.  
 _Why was Snape on that bus?  
Where are we going?  
What day is it?  
Does Dumbledore know I've left Privet Drive?  
Where are we, anyway?  
Why did Snape take me with him?  
Is Snape going to kill me?  
Why is Snape's hand still on my shoulder? _  
His hazy mind was reeling and he was so caught up in his thoughts he did not notice Snape suddenly stopping. Stumbling slightly and before regaining his balance, earning an annoyed look from Snape, Harry looked up at the house in front of him and frowned. It was… not what he had expected. He didn't really know what he had expected, perhaps a scary mansion with broken windows and sealed doors, a private graveyard where shadows lurked and voices whispered, while the sky was dark and thundering, lightning striking in the background.  
What he saw, however, was a humble house of brick walls, with big windows and doors. As Snape entered the small metal gate to the property and stormed towards the door, Harry noticed the variety of plants and the vines that had climbed up the brick wall, decorating it. It was very pretty, and had been trimmed very neatly (Harry should know, having spent so many hours in Petunia's garden). He couldn't imagine Snape having green fingers.  
Harry jumped back to reality when Snape called for him, telling him to get a move on. Quickly, he walked the few steps to what was, supposedly, Snape's house. He tried to imagine what Snape's place must look like inside. Coffins, potion ingredients and chains hanging from the ceiling came to mind, but as he walked through the door, he found no such thing. Instead, they entered a spacious hallway that was bigger than what he'd expected, thinking that the house had seemed smaller outside. A dark green shade covered the walls of the hallway, and the ceiling was tall. There were no doors in the hallway, but large openings to other rooms.  
Closing the door behind him, Snape easily put the trunk aside and didn't even bother taking of his coat before pushing Harry across the hallway and into the kitchen, summoning a chair and pushing Harry into it.  
"Professor?" asked Harry cautiously, as he watched his professor rummage one of many cupboards in the kitchen, and to Harry's surprise, a refrigerator. Snape returned with a number of potions, and put them all on the kitchen table.  
"We will talk later, for now try not to damage your voice further," Snape answered briskly, his own voice tight as if holding back all the questions and inevitable snarky comments that Harry knew oh so well. But it seemed as if he was safe for the moment, as Snape was concentrating on healing him. Eyeing Harry, Snape drew out his wand and ran a diagnostic spell.  
"Bruising on cheek, bump in the back of the head, bruising around neck, two broken ribs, fractured wrist and bruised back. A low fever, an ugly cough and signs of malnourishment," Snape read aloud, more to himself than anyone else. Harry's face was burning in shame as he said nothing, wisely so.

The next few minutes felt like hours to Harry. After the horrific experience of Snape having to take of Harry's clothes for him, as Harry was unable to do so without hurting himself, every second felt like an eternity. Snape was muttering under his breath, and though Harry didn't quite catch much of it, words such as "idiotic", "reckless" and "dunderhead" caught his ear.  
Harry swallowed more potions than he could count, but stood otherwise completely still, as Snape walked around him, waving his wand while whispering complicated spells under his breath. Uncomfortable, Harry looked around the kitchen. The whole house appeared very muggle-like, something that surprised him seeing the whole "former Death-Eater and anti-muggle" thing. However, now that Harry thought of it, he had never heard Snape utter a bad word towards muggles or muggleborns before. With this in mind, Harry looked around the kitchen. It was quite spacious as well, and Harry tried to imagine Snape using the oven, refrigerator, and the knives and pots hanging from crooks on the wall. But the action of making food was so _human_ and _normal_ that he simply couldn't imagine Snape doing so.  
"If you're finished inspecting my kitchen, Potter, you may try to move around and see if the bandages are too tight," Snape ordered, making Harry jump. He stood up feeling much better than when he had sat down, and awkwardly walked around, relieved that the only pain he was in was a slight ache that could easily be ignored.  
"The bruises will fade by the morning, but you'll have to wear the bandages for about a week."  
"Thank you," said Harry, massaging his throat as he realised it didn't hurt to speak anymore. He then reached for his hoodie to get dressed.  
"Do not even think of putting on that smelly, old rag again, Potter," Snape said cuttingly, making Harry flush in both anger and embarrassment. Reminding himself that if it hadn't been for Snape he'd still be in pain, Harry inwardly sighed and put the hoodie down.  
"May I go get a jumper from my trunk?" he asked as politely as he could. Snape briskly took of his coat and nodded, heading out to the hallway as well. He hung up his coat on the rack before storming out, throwing a "get dressed and follow me, Potter", over his shoulder. Harry dug in his trunk and took the first sweater he could find, threw it on and scurried after his professor, entering what was the living room.  
It was big, but not obnoxiously so. Harry was now convinced there was some enlarging spell on the house, making it bigger on the inside than the outside. The wallpaper was a dark, calming shade of blue, while the couch and chairs were of brown leather. One of the walls was covered in rows and rows of books, all of which beautiful and organized. A variety of plants, pictures of landscapes and a beautifully decorated fireplace gave the room a welcoming, warm feeling. Was this really Snape's house? There were no pictures of any family members or people on the walls, and Harry silently wondered if Snape had killed the former residents of the house and taken it.  
"What are you doing?" asked Snape harshly as he eyed Harry.  
"Nothing," Harry said, perhaps too quickly. "Just… looking around."  
"Who told you you were allowed to look around?" Snape asked dangerously, and Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.  
"Sit down on the couch," Snape commanded, and Harry couldn't help but revel at what an excellent host Snape was. Harry did as he was told, though, and sat down in the surprisingly comfortable couch with his hands in his lap, as Snape sat down on the edge of the chair opposite to Harry.  
"So," started Snape, his voice still tight. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Harry looked up at his professor through his fringe, and could see all that anger and resentment that Snape had supressed the last hour in order to heal Harry properly. Now that Harry was healed, however, Snape could finally snap. Did it matter if Harry had anything to say? Would Snape listen? Instead of answering, Harry shook his head and returned his gaze to the floor. This, however, was not satisfactory.  
"A verbal answer, Potter, would suffice, unless of course your last brain cell died during that beating you received." Harry shifted in his seat, leg bouncing.  
"I ran away from the Durlseys. Walked around for a while and got mugged on the way," he lied, looking up at his professor. "Just some muggles. Luckily, I didn't have much money on me." Snape stared at Harry for a moment.  
"And they beat you to this extent for a few coins?" he asked doubtfully, noting how Harry dragged his hand through his hair and couldn't seem to sit still.  
"Well when…When they jumped me, I was stupid enough to-to fight back. They didn't like that. They weren't too pleased when they realised I had almost no money either, and so…they beat me."  
"How many?" Harry frowned, the quick question taking him by surprise.  
"I-wha?"  
"How many muggles were there?" Snape asked, his brows raising expectantly and his arms folding across his chest.  
"Oh.. ehm about three I think, maybe two. It was dark." Swallowing, Harry dried his sweaty palms on his jeans.  
"What were they wearing?" Dragging his fingers through his hair, Harry stuttered.  
"I-I don't know. Like I said, it was dark."  
"Where were you attacked?" Snape fired the questions one after the other, barely giving Harry time to think.  
"Oh, ehm well-"  
"-You don't remember? One would think that being robbed and so brutally beaten would cause one to remember where the scene took place, hmm? Unless, of course, you are lying, Potter." Snape said cuttingly, raising an expectant brow and watching Harry carefully, who shook his head and looked away.  
"I've told you the truth," Harry said, unblinking.  
"I don't believe you," Snape snarled. "I believe you are an arrogant boy who has a superiority complex and thinks himself above others. Who lies, break rules and acts with no thought of the concequences that affects not only you, but others as well. Do you think I wanted my night disturbed by a ruddy, dunderheaded teenage boy?"  
"You didn't have to take me here! That was your choice! I never asked for your help, in fact I wish you'd just left my on the bus!" Harry retorted, standing up, as he was not able to dampen his anger.  
"I don't want you here anymore than you want to be here, Potter, I can assure you that," Snape snapped, standing up as well. "But you will stay. I will not have you wandering about the streets or doing any sort of mischief. Defy my orders and Gryffindor's points will still be in negative by the time your grandchildren attend. Is that understood?" The two wizards glared at each other with equal force, before the older one sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
"I need you to understand, Potter. What do you think would happen if you wandered about the streets alone at this time of night? Especially now that…" Snape paused, seemingly regretting something he said. Nostrils flaring, he quickly continued. "What would you have done, had I not taken you in, Potter? You were severely hurt and had a fever that was only getting worse. Did you have enough money to stay at a hotel?" Snape demanded, looking Harry up and down as the boy had the nerve to roll his eyes and glare at the floor. Taking that as a no, he continued.  
"Did you plan on staying with a friend, or perhaps a family friend of yours?" Again, all Harry could do was shake his head, still glaring at the floor.  
"Did you have a plan at all, Potter?" Harry's jaw clenched as he looked up at Snape through his fringe.  
"No," he said through clenched teeth, bitterly admitting to himself that Snape was, somewhat, right. He would probably be sleeping under some bench right now if it wasn't for the greasy git. But he would never admit that to Snape, of course.  
"I have taken you in my home and healed you of your injuries. I will be treated with respect, is that understood?" Snape still sounded dangerous and angry, but not as venomous and hateful as usual. In fact, Snape looked very tired. Exhausted, really. It was the middle of the night, and Snape had used a lot of his magical energy on healing Harry. Maybe it was the realisation that had been creeping in the back of his mind all night, that Snape was actually human, that made Harry nod his head and say;  
"I understand." Snape froze, frowning as he looked down at the boy, disturbed. That was not what he had expected. Protesting, cheek, sarcasm and whining, yes. Not this. Shaking his head, Snape whipped around and called for Harry to follow him. Walking through the hallway, Snape entered a door at the end of it, with Harry right behind him.  
"You will be sleeping here tonight," he said, gesturing to the queen-sized bed in the corner. Harry looked around the room, wide eyed. The room was beautifully appointed and baronial, but still modest. The spacious room had a tall roof, a nice contrast to the cupboard Harry was used to. A dark shade of red covered the walls, while the bookshelf, desk and bed was of oak with beautiful carvings covering them.  
Snape felt strangely uncomfortable having the boy in his house, analysing the room, as if he had any right to do so.  
"I know you are lying about something, Potter," he barked before he could stop himself, making the boy jump. "The only thing certain about your situations is that you are, for the moment, stuck here. It is late and I have no further desire to deal with a hormonal teen. We will discuss your situation tomorrow, and I will find out the truth. But for now, you will lend the guestroom. Under your _short_ stay here, you will be quiet and not enter any room other than your own and the bathroom at the other side of the hall, nor will you touch any of my belongings. Might I add that if you even think about acting on any of the Gryffindor stupidity and brashness that is so imprinted in you, you will sorely regret it. That includes leaving this house without my permission." Snape paused, and Harry quickly nodded as he realised Snape was waiting for an answer. Rolling his eyes, he continued.  
"I will notify the Headmaster of your presence here immediately, and arrange for him to visit tomorrow so that we may find a solution as to what to do with you. Are there any questions?" Harry's tired mind was barely able to keep up with Snape's rant, and it took him a second to realise Snape was waiting for an answer, and he quickly shook his head. Sneering, Snape took one last look at Harry before storming out of the room, his robes billowing behind him and slamming the door shut with a wave of his wand.  
Harry stood in the middle of the room, trying to understand everything that had happened today. At first, he was unsure if he would be able to sleep here with Snape in a 50 meter radius. Still, feeling as he had little choice, Harry put on the comfortable pyjamas lying on the bed that he supposed Snape had gotten him (and shrunk to his size, as it could not be a coincidence that it fit perfectly), and crawled into the queen sized bed. Though his mind was running wild with everything that had happened today, the tiredness and the fact that he felt as if twelve centaurs had tramped him down was so overwhelming that it was not hard for him to fall into a deep sleep at all.

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Already working on chapter three, and I promise that the interaction between Snape and Harry won't be so one-sided from now on. Please review and tell me what you think, I'd love to hear your opinions.

To the reviews I've gotten:

 **Gurgaraneth:** Thank you!

 **WaywardDaughter617:** I'm glad, I hope you enjoy this!

 **Vadimmom:** Thank you for reading my stuff, I hope you like this as well!

 **Hobesan:** I can see that the timeline is a bit confusing in the beginning as there are some similarities to the fifth book, sorry about that. I wanted to write that it takes place in the summer before his third year in the summary, but there wasn't enough room. I'm glad you're interested in the story!


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